“Morning” sickness, my ass.

Whoever named this nonstop, all day, sickening sea of nausea “morning” sickness should be dragged out into the street and shot.

I feel so very, very pregnant lately. Even if you disregard the fatigue, the sore, puffy feet, the need to take a 15-minute break after doing 30 seconds of chores, the shortness of breath, the inability to sleep soundly (Matt has informed me that I have stopped snoring but now am doing this weird “treading water” thing in my sleep), the heartburn, the acidy taste at the back of my mouth, the thirst, the nausea, the painful sensitivity to smells, the sunburnt feel of my nipples, and the turbulent rollercoaster of my emotions, you are STILL left with one of the hallmarks of pregnancy: cravings.

My cravings have ranged – well, not all that far and wide in the last 72 hours:

- popsicles (AWESOME for alleviating nausea)

- White rice mixed with cheddar cheese and sour cream

- Linguini with white clam sauce

- chocolate chip cookies

- Sauteed spinach with garlic and pine nuts (still haven’t satisfied that one)

- Saltines with cheese

- cheesecheesecheesecheesecheese

- sour cream

- cottage cheese with mandarin oranges

- peanut butter toast with jam

- Risotto with lobster

So, I would say that the Bebe wants calcium, fat and starch. Also, chocolate. Smart Bebe.

I had my blood taken on Friday to establish a baseline HCG level. I got a call today — at 6 weeks, 1 day, my HCG was 18,824.  I think that’s pretty good, although the internet is of no help.  I am offering up a vein again tomorrow to have a second level taken. Fingers crossed that this one will show my levels continuing to rise as they should, but considering how ponderously pregnant I already feel, I’m pretty hopeful that they will check out.

Thursday is Matt’s 29th birthday, and my second ultrasound. I will be exactly seven weeks that day; let’s hope that the Bebe and I can give Matt a good birthday present.

Houston, we have bona fide morning sickness.

Glory hallelujah!

Well.

I had my first ultrasound yesterday, at six weeks.  Gestational sac, yolk sac, but no fetal pole seen.  I also measure five weeks, four days, rather than an even six weeks.  The ultrasound tech told me that it was totally normal for this stage of the pregnancy, but it sent me veering off into horrid emotional territory.  I keep seesawing between “everything’s fine” and “it’s all over.”

If I had real morning sickness at this point, I’d feel better about things.  Generally speaking, the sicker you are, the lower your chances of miscarriage.  I’ve had nausea here and there, but nothing like the real morning sickness that leaves you curled up on the bathroom floor.  I know it’s weird to say that I’d feel SO much better if only I felt wretched, but it’s true.

That being said, my boobs are still sore, I’m still short of breath, and I’m starting to get some of that sensitivity to smell that my sister told me about.  Small things to peg my hopes on, but I’m desperate for something to give me hope.

I’m having blood drawn today to test my Hcg levels, and I’m going to have another ultrasound next Thursday.  I pray God that the next one shows me a fetal pole and a wee little beating heart.  In the meantime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for some good old fashioned retching.

Six weeks, one day.

blerg

I woke up this morning, rolled over and thought, “Wow!  My boobs are a lot less sore than they were yesterday!”  Then I trembled a little bit in fear, because it seems like my pregnancy symptoms are taking turns harrassing me.  Extreme fatigue got better, only to be replaced by heartburn!  Heartburn got better, only to be replaced by insanely sore boobs!  Insanely sore boobs got better, only to be replaced by…..

blerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrg.

No puking yet, but it’s 8 am and I’ve already spent some serious quality time curled up on the kitchen floor, because the linoleum just felt so nice and cool.  I’ll consider today a success if I manage to show up at work in something other than yoga pants and fuzzy socks.
Oh, Bebe.  You sure like the surprises.

Five weeks, six days today.

Ways in which the Bebe shows he/she is my husband’s child

1.  I now eat bacon.  And kind of like it.

2.  Also, steak, beef & broccoli stirfry, steak and cheese sandwiches…..

3.  I snore.  Loudly.

4.  I toss and turn but can’t fall asleep.

5.  I have road rage.

6.  Pizza gives me the squicks (all that cheeeeeeeeeeese!!).

Bebe, you have made your point.  Paternity is not in question.

Dearest Bebe

You are not exactly helping me conceal this here pregnancy.

I know that right now, the bump is 99.9% Bloat Baby, but the fact that the Bloat Baby exists is totally your fault, little Bebe.  (Well, actually, I guess it’s your Dad’s, but still.)

Please, take it easy on Mama.  I’d like to be able to wear my own pants for at least another three weeks.

Love,

Your Incubator

My new best friends

– My jogging bras, which are the only things that can restrain the pregnancy tits right now.   (I have cautioned Matt to stand back when I have to take my bra off — I might could poke an eye or two out.)

– Steak and cheese sammiches, from just about anywhere.

– Zantac.

– Water.  Oh God, water.  I’m so fucking thirsty all the damn time.

– Snuggly, cozy sweatshirts.  I’m freezing my ass off.

I think the Bebe is fucking with my head by making my various pregnancy symptoms come and go, ebb and flow, at will.  That nausea I mentioned last week?  Yeah, it hasn’t reappeared.  The heartburn got a bit better, but the same day, my tits started exploding in size.  About the only consistent symptoms are that I am pretty much hungry ALL THE DAMN TIME (mostly for steak), and I am thirsty like whoa.

Five weeks, four days!

Ooh baby, it BURNS

I have discovered the reason behind my recent gasping for breath and uncomfortable pressure/pain in my stomach – THE BEBE. Seriously. I had no idea that shortness of breath and dyspepsia were both pregnancy symptoms (both arising out of the high tide of progesterone currently sweeping through my body), but Dr. Google has informed me that it is so. Apparently progesterone relaxes everything in your body, including those lovely muscles that keep things like, oh, your diaphragm and esophagus nice and tight, leaving you short of breath and with a chest full of acid. No word yet on whether progesterone also affects…. um, other areas.

I have also discovered that progesterone makes your body cling onto anything and everything that passes through your system.   (“You never know, man, you might neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed that 10 pounds of water weight someday!”)  This means that I am currently the owner of a lovely Bloat Baby, which is giving me the appearance of someone at least 20 weeks pregnant.

Rawk.

Pregnancy hysteria? Check.

I am rapidly becoming a blubbering, sniveling mass of nerves, snot and tears thanks to the Bebe. Matt had to work on some stuff at a friend’s house last night, and left to my own neurotic devices, I was THISCLOSE to hopping in the car, heading to CVS and buying a raft of pregnancy tests just so I could MAKE SURE that somehow I hadn’t gotten unpregnant in the last 48 hours. The only things that held me back were the baked potato I was devouring and the sweet, sweet embrace of our couch. Mmm. Couchhhhh.

After Matt came home, I surrendered to my panicky feelings and ended up crying on his shoulder about how I just want this baby, soo soo soo much, pLEAAAAAAAAAASE don’t let anything bad happen to the Bebe, sooooooooooooooob.

(Sweetheart, I really appreciate your patience right now. I am fully aware of my hormonal hurricane-ness.)

The one surefire sign of pregnancy that I am holding onto with feverish fingers is the fact that I want MEAT. Now, maybe you know that I’m vegetarian by nature, but many may not be aware that I’m vegetarian not out of any high-falutin humane ideals or nothin, but because I am really, truly, wholly repulsed by meat products. BLECH BLECH DOUBLE BLECH. So the fact that I would give my right arm for a steak right now? Yeah, that’s a sign that I am surely carrying my husband’s spawn.